


Untitled

by Keepoffthegrass



Series: The Reichenbach feels [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Major character death - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 05:49:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1677041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keepoffthegrass/pseuds/Keepoffthegrass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock died when Mary shot him. John and Mycroft both feel to blame, on the anniversary of his death they come together to feel closer to him...basically john f***s Mycroft while he's dressed as Sherlock. no sex in the fic though</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untitled

**Author's Note:**

> all one shots, based on ideas I have about series 3 events etc

John Watson started _the_ day with a hot shower and a fastidious shave, being sure to get every little hair until his face was as smooth as a man's his age could be. After that he made himself some scrambled egg on toast before carefully putting his outfit together. Only after all that did he allow himself a small whiskey while he tidied up his bare cheerless flat.  
                                                                      ...  
Mycroft Holmes started _the_ day with a long soak in the bath and a professional shave. After a breakfast of smoked salmon and cream cheese on wholemeal bagels he got dressed in black trousers, YSL shoes and a deep purple shirt. Only after all that did he allow himself one cigarette as he mused on his thoughts.  
                                                                        ...  
 John Watson's hand shook slightly as his mind played memories without his permission. As a doctor he couldn't shake off the knowledge of how much pain Sherlock would have felt in his final moments, bleeding out, afraid...his gut twisted and his chest and throat constricted as his heart made his body feel its pain. The grief and the guilt swamped his senses temporarily and he berated himself (not for the first time) that he had married the one who had taken Sherlock out of the world and his life for good, ashamed and angry that he hadn't seen past the angel face.  
“Not now, not today” he told himself firmly as he had another drink. He had dealt with Mary-or rather Mycroft had and he had let it happen.                                    
                                                                          ...  
Mycroft Holmes let a plume of winter- grey smoke curl up and out as the locked doors in his mind opened...he wasn't a doctor so he didn't focus on the pain that Sherlock would have been in, but he could imagine the look of surprise and betrayal on Sherlock's face; the way his eyes would have narrowed when he saw the gun pointed at him before widening when John Watson's wife pulled the trigger. He could imagine it vividly and he often did.  
Stubbing out the cigarette he shook his head to clear it before adjusting a dark curly wig and slipping in the blue/green contact lenses. He stared hard into the mirror regretting that no matter what the price contacts could never truly replicate all the shades that resided in his brothers eyes or their ability to reflect and absorb the colours around him. At least they could copy the partial heterochromia above the pupil, that was something.  
As he heard John's tread upon the staircase he shrugged into the Belstaff coat, smoothing down the sleeve with reverence.  
“Time to go and be Sherlock Holmes” he whispered.


End file.
